


340. no smoking sign

by piggy09



Series: The Sestre Daily Drabble Project [289]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 03:26:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10631166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: Sarah can’t make herself leave the hallway directly outside Helena’s hospital room; she’s pacing, holding her breath just in case she can hear one of the babies crying.





	

They kick everyone out of the hospital room, after Helena pushes the second baby out, and the group scatters. Sarah can’t make herself leave the hallway directly outside Helena’s room; she’s pacing back and forth, back and forth, tethered to her sister inside like a physical rope knotting them together. Siobhan, sitting in one of the uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs by the hospital room, smiles knowingly as she continues clicking her knitting needles together. (A jumper, looks like. She’ll have to knit two.) (God, she’ll have to knit two.)

“Sit down, love,” Siobhan says, “you’re going to wear yourself out, all that pacing.”

“I’m fine,” Sarah says, and keeps throwing herself back and forth along the hallway. She can hear voices from inside. She doesn’t remember the minutes after Kira, just remembers being knocked upside the head with love and not being able to see through it. Sarah would be able to tell, wouldn’t she, if everything wasn’t fine? It has to be fine, doesn’t it? She can hear a baby crying. That’s good, right?

“Chicken,” S says, and Sarah skids to a halt. She folds her arms across her chest. If she doesn’t keep walking she’ll die, but she doesn’t keep walking.

“What,” she says.

“She’s _fine_.”

“I know,” Sarah says. She rocks a little bit on the balls of her feet. “’course she’s fine. Made of bloody titanium, isn’t she?”

Before Siobhan can answer the doctor is opening the door, leaning her head out. She looks exhausted. Is that normal? Is that just dealing with Helena? Is something wrong? Is everything alright?

Sarah must have asked that last question out loud, because the doctor is smiling warmly at her and saying: “Everything’s fine. Would you like to see—”

And Sarah’s already inside, frantic. Helena isn’t even looking up; she’s laser-focused on the babies in her arms – nasty, scrunched-up purple-red bundles. Sarah loves them already. Sarah would kill for them, those little piles of skin and tiny fists.

“Hey,” she says, voice rolling out of her mouth soft and edgeless. She comes closer to the edge of the bed.

“Sarah,” Helena says, lighting up immediately. “They’re beautiful. They are the most beautiful babies in the whole world.”

“Yeah,” Sarah says, and then she laughs, and that laugh is a sob, and it’s all true. “They really – they are.”

She pulls a chair up to the side of the bed, and Helena goes back to looking down. Her eyes are so wide. She shifts one of the babies in her arm so she can run her thumb down the curve of a cheek, the softest gesture in the world. Her eyes are glassy. Sarah’s are, too. God. Helena’s kids. God. _God_ , they’re there, they’re beautiful.

“I don’t know what to name them,” Helena says, sounding completely overwhelmed. “I had names. I made a list, _sestra_ Alison helped. So many names. I don’t know what to _name_ them.” The last sentence comes out wavering, terrified, questioning. Sarah puts her hand on her sister’s forehead, brushes sweaty strands of hair off her skin.

“Helena,” she says. “You just pushed two babies out, yeah? It’s alright if you want to take a bit of a kip. Trust me, no one needs you to name them _right now_.”

“What if they don’t get a paper,” Helena whispers, “and what if that means they aren’t real people, like me, I have no paper, I don’t want to take this from them when they are just now in the world—”

“Helena,” Sarah says. Helena stops. Her eyes are blown wide with fear and adrenaline. When she’d been pushing, her roaring had been audible all the way from the second floor – at least, that’s what the nurses had said. All that feeling coursing through her. Sarah remembers. Sarah knows.

“Breathe,” Sarah says.

“I am doing this.”

“No you aren’t, meathead,” Sarah says. “You did it, alright? They’re here. They’re fine. You’re – you’re fine, everything’s alright. Take some bloody breaths. We’ve got you, promise.”

Helena obediently sucks in a huge stream of air and in her arms, one of the babies starts whining. Helena adjusts, clucks a soothing stream of nonsense down at her child. All the fear drains out of her face and it’s gone.

Sarah had left Kira at home – Cosima’s babysitting service – and her arms ache with the need to hold her. In that hospital room, all those years and years ago, Kira’s eyes had been brown-gold. Sarah doesn’t remember Kira blinking _once_ , although she must have. It felt like they looked at each other forever.

She startles back to now and sees Helena looking down at the babies in her arms. She’s unblinking. Sarah leans back in her chair and stays perfectly still; she watches Helena and her children breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


End file.
